


give me forests half dead

by orphan_account



Series: March Into The Sea [1]
Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: BUT Stan has a DOG, Bisexual Stanley Uris, EDIT: the links don't work so they are manual footnotes, Footnotes for goyish readers, Gay Richie Tozier, In this part at least, Intergenerational Trauma, Jewish Character, Jewish Richie Tozier, Jewish references, M/M, Stan’s POV, Talk of Suicide, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Yearning, i cant code HTML, lots of them!, not beta read I’m mentally ill, period typical anti-semitism, talk of self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21610552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Stan lets out a cough to get Richie’s attention, stepping aside and jerking his head in the direction of his living room. “It’s cold, Tozier.”Richie scoffs, getting up and grabbing his things. “You know, you’re supposed to openly welcome a vampire before they can go inside.”“Well, good thing you aren’t one, then.”
Relationships: Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Series: March Into The Sea [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1557505
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	give me forests half dead

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been binge watching _X-files_ recently, and while the whole Mulder/Scully dynamic parallels Stozier’s in many ways (I’m concocting an AU soon), there was a specific episode (s2e13 to be exact) where Scully, who’s gone through traumatic event after traumatic event in this season (& throughout her life), breaks down for the first time in the show and allows herself to trust Mulder. This fic is heavily inspired by that scene and it’s sequel will too!!
> 
> title taken from March Into The Sea - Modest Mouse, which is an incredibly Stan song

**DERRY, MAINE**  
**NOVEMBER, 1991**

It’s cold, Stan knows this without even stepping foot near his window. Sheltered by the heated walls of his closed-off living room, the sky looks grey, lifeless and frozen. Like mother nature herself is holding her breath. 

His skin still burns from the mark of Bowers raking his face across the pavement. It hurts more when the asphalt is freezing, the stray pebbles from the roads the mayor only fixes with broken promises becoming pointed with the ice that clings to them from morning’s dew. He learned not to cry during it anymore so he just stares ahead and watches the chickadees watch him - after a few years he doesn’t cry much afterward, either. He just looks at the wall in front of him from the dinner table, the Sabbath candles fire lit by his mother [[1](%E2%80%9C#note1%E2%80%9D)] illuminate the failed and chipping paint ahead of him.

Despite the woodstove he sits next to, Stan feels his lips continue to split and bleed. The cold breath of winter undeterred by the fact he and his father winterpoofed the house just this August. When he touches his fingertips to him, he feels a cold shock against his scratches. The outer ring of his face burns where he was bitten by a creature he’s repressed. His family is rather good at that, a special skill honed from generations of torture, exile and running. It’s why his father doesn’t speak to him that much and why his mother leaves notes in his lunch box, always ending every conversation and note with an _‘I love you, bobele!’ [[1](%E2%80%9C#note2%E2%80%9D)] despite the fact he’s had his growth spurt a year or two ago (at the very least, he was always taller than Eddie). Just in case it’s the last time they ever speak. Stanely keeps all the notes for the same reason. _

__

The family Collie, who was blessed with the name _’Babka’_ by a young Stan for her chocolate coat, sits beside him on the floor, her tail placed on his covered feet. She hasn’t left his side since his mother brought him home from the school nurse despite her insisting all he needed was an ice pack and ‘a few bandages’ to fix his Bowers Issued Roadburn.

Stan’s gaze flickers to Babka when she lets out a small _‘grrruff_ ’, her ears pointed upwards towards the sound. Stan feels himself go rigid, the flash of a memory of his father’s shotgun in his parents’ shared bedroom appears - he shakes the thought away, too frightened of himself and his compulsions. 

The knock on the door and the sharp bark from Babka nearly sends him flying off his wooden chair. The canine rises, trotting over to the door and continuing her barking, though it loses its assertive edge. Slowly, Stan stands, his thick blanket trailing behind him upon the wooden floor that creaks under his shifting weight. Hesitantly, he opens the looming door and braces for impact. 

“Stan The Man! Bops! If I was a businessman, I think I’d call this a two-for-one-deal!” A chipper voice breathes out with the gust of winter air. 

“Richie,” Stan sniffs, feigning contempt. “And it’s _Babka, _not Bops.”__

__“I dunno,” Richie begins, squatting down to ruffle the canine’s fur and jostle her floppy ears. “I think the little lassie quite enjoys it the name, chip chip cheerio and the like.”_ _

__Stan only crosses his arms, cocking a dark eyebrow upwards as he looks at Richie._ _

__The other boy puts on an overdramatic frown, the expression only heightened by his large brown eyes. In private, Stan refers to them as loveable and akin to Babka’s. “Oh Staniel, I thought you’d _love_ the British voice.” _ _

__A silence falls over them when Stan doesn’t respond, save for Babka’s happy pants and the _‘thump’_ of her tail against the heavy door. Stan’s thankful his father isn’t home, otherwise, he’d get a long lecture of keeping heat indoors and _‘We aren’t trying to heat up the whole neighborhood, Stan.’_ because he’s too much of a coward to invite Richie inside._ _

__“Bowers, uh,” Richie starts again, never able to let the blanket of silence consume him. He pushes up his taped-up glasses, “He really got to you this time.”_ _

__A jaded shrug comes from the other teen, his hands moving to pick at the non-existent lint on his wool blanket. “He gets to me every time. It’s funny, ‘cause I’m one of the best runners on the baseball team.”_ _

__He’s the only one who laughs at the jest._ _

__Shifting his position on the porch, Richie lets out an awkward cough and begins to dig through his backpack. “No need to fear, my dear Stan! Dr. Tozier is on the case.”_ _

__“I don’t remember Went being anything other than a dentist,” Stan huffs, suppressing the blush that came with the endearing term. He wraps his blanket around him more tightly._ _

__After taking out his rather decorated first-aid kit, he puts his palms up in mock surrender. “I walked into that one, I’ll give you that.”_ _

__There’s a brief pause (or at least he thinks it’s brief, his sense of time is getting more and more fucked up). It’s odd - Richie hardly ever gives in to their little dance. The type of dance where, to an outsider, it looks like they’re arguing or just plain hate one another. Yet on another, deeper level, it’s a performance that’s built on mutual respect for the other and their wit. Why can’t they express this in any other way? A fun trivia night? Stan doesn’t know and chalks it up to the fact they’re both Jewish and wouldn’t have it any other way. He knows Richie gets bored easily, being damn near if not a genius. So the fact he usually doesn’t stop their little battle of wit and wills brings some sort of comfort - he’s not boring nor dumb, at least to Richie. Which is the only opinion that seems to matter anymore.  
That’s why it’s odd (and frankly rather concerning) that he stops so early before the beat could even and before Richie starts moving his hands wildly with passion, before Stan throws his own hands in the air and mixes up English with Hebrew, before finally ending up drowsy with laughter and smiles. _ _

__Stan lets out a cough to get Richie’s attention, stepping aside and jerking his head in the direction of his living room. “It’s cold, Tozier.”_ _

__Richie scoffs, getting up and grabbing his things. “You know, you’re supposed to openly welcome a vampire before they can go inside.”_ _

__“Well, good thing you aren’t one, then.”_ _

__\-------_ _

__Stan watches Richie place his neon windbreaker on the coat rack and stomp out his shoes on the inside matt, laughing when Babka sneezes after sniffing the almost-frozen water. He feels his face heat up when the laughter from the other reaches his ears as he puts more logs in the woodstove. Dusting off his hands on his pants, he stands and closes the stove door, opens it once more, closes it, opens it again and closes it the last time, letting out a tired exhale as he does so. When he turns back, Richie is all but not too close._ _

__“Everything alright?” He asks, his free hand ghosting in the air to reach out to him before settling down by his side._ _

__Stan feels it then, a horrible sweltering bitterness that rises from his stomach and fills his mouth with black tar. He barks out a burst of clipping laughter that goes on far too long, his eyebrows arching to betray his action. Midway through he wishes that he just said he was fine and kicked Richie out. But he respects him too much to do that and he hates himself for it - knowing respect is only a fraction of it. A facade for the hidden words he can’t say unless he wants to burn upon the presence of his father and the Torah. He digs his nails into his palms in a fleeting, last-minute attempt to ground himself.  
Blood and pain are all real, never truly momentary things. He’s always awake when Bowers decorates him with cuts and bruises despite how much he tries to put himself someplace else - amongst the birds high above the world and its Nile. Or when he tried to tear down a fascist sign, only to have his palm slit with the hidden razor below it. His dad told him his grandfather shot himself, that there was blood everywhere, that blood haunts their bloodline. Yet as much as he despises (oh dear L-rd he can’t even think about it, yet his mind is enraptured by it) the sight of the thick red liquid, he can never truly escape it. He’ll never be with the birds in his sky (after all, G-d made them a day before Man) so he turns it into a morbid type of fascination. _ _

__It’s here, a point in which he doesn’t know is happening over three monochromatic lifetimes or if it’s even happening at all, that Stan realizes it’s truly no laughing matter. That many have died because of it, that he tried to die due to it and that Richie, who finds laughter and joy - however fleeting - in anything, looks like his mouth has been wired shut. He scours the other’s eyes for pity - digging for a reason to hate him, to kick him out and pretend the next day it never happened. But as suspected, he turns up with nothing. Richie respects him too much to pity him and Stan feels himself falling over and over again despite how many ropes he ties to the cliffside. A relationship built on trust and respect is something of a fiction - you either get one or the other, a bargain Abraham would have made for the people of Sodom and Gomorrah. [[3](%E2%80%9C#note3%E2%80%9D)] Yet here they are, trusting and respecting each other. __

____

____

__Maybe that’s why, in this odd and fucked up wave of time, his laughter edges away and becomes short, cutting exhales. Salty tears replace the tar on his lips, sting his wounds and blur his vision. As a result of gravity, he leans down into Richie’s shoulder, bringing him closer till the only space between them is the bustling atoms that make up the whole of them. He feels the heat of his arms around his back, steadying both of them and twirling a finger around a curl based at the nape of his neck._ _

__“I’m so tired,” Stan chokes out, which for some unknown reason brings the feeling of a solid rebellion, “so fucking tired, Richie. All I want to do is sleep this away but I…. I can’t fucking sleep. This world it-it’s poisoning me! Rotting me from the inside fucking out!”_ _

__He clamps his jaw shut so tightly he’s sure his teeth would break as he waits for Richie’s response. He knows Richie is viewing the situation with a forensic-like meticulously. That, despite his impulsivity, he’s deductive and logical much like how Stan’s mother describes Mr. Tozier being at the same age. It’s a secret he prides himself knowing - the many pieces of Richie Tozier he’s been given over their years of unrelenting friendship._ _

__“Sometimes… Sometimes I wake up from sleeping really early till really late, ‘n I’m more tired than I was before I went to bed.” Richie’s voice is gentle, like the wind outside kissing the branches of the pine. Like the waves of the Nile, blessed with prophecy, pushing Moses further away from danger [[4](%E2%80%9C#note4%E2%80%9D)] __“And I fall asleep a lot earlier now, ‘cause it’s pitch dark at fucking 4:30.” This earns a chuckle from both of them. Stan feels the taunt muscles of Richie’s back lessen just a little._ __And, sometimes, it’s when I kick the soccer ball around I feel a lot better. Especially with my dad.” He continues, nuzzling his chin on Stan’s shoulder. “Sometimes it’s a drive on I-95.”_ ____

____

__  
_“The highway that never ends.”___

___“That’s why I like it,” Richie chuckles. Stan can clearly see the lopsided, adrenaline-filled grin as the other pictures the highway. “Sometimes it’s so empty and I just drive and drive. And there’s so much crazy weird shit on I-95, Stan - I’m pretty sure if I said anything the FBI would have my ass.”_  
_ _

__

__  
_“Why come back, then? To this shithole that hates you for just existing?”_  


__“You.”_ _

__Richie says it so clear and simple, so clear cut to the point of brute honesty. Thought it’s anything but brutal - simply truthful, simply _loving._ It’s so incredibly _Richie_ that Stan can’t help but fall in love with the word too. _ _

__He feels himself being jostled, torn away from his spot clutching Richie if only for just a moment. Richie’s hands are on his face, or more or less gently hovering above the wounds - the heat from him and from his own cheeks make his cuts seer with fire._ _

__“I promise - when, when you’re all better I’ll take you out there and we can go to the Atlantic, we- we can get on my dad’s lobster boat off the coast and we’ll- we’ll go to Moore Point. You’ll see all the crazy shit Maine has and the clown won’t make you feel bonkers anymore.”_ _

__Gently, as if afraid his poison might transfer to Richie just through the touch of their hands, he takes both his hands in each his own. He knows exactly what he’s doing, or attempting to do, to make plans so Stan doesn’t attempt anything when he leaves. To make sure he’s there again - if not to patch up to just simply exist._ _

__“Not Friday,” Stan says smoothly, “Sabbath dinner. My parents would kill me if I missed it.”_ _

__“Saturday, then.”_ _

_  
_“Saturday’s fine.”__

__\--  
There are thousands of words Stan wants to say when Richie takes his neon coat off the coat rack to leave after coating his face with Neosporin. Babka looks at him presumably to urge him on, to let his feelings reach _human_ ears and not hers and his own. But you aren’t to sin in front of the Torah despite how many times Richie has sworn in front of it. And there’s no amount of _Mitzvahs_ [__ that could grant him goodwill with G-d if he were to say them in _general_ , not to even begin if he said it in front of the holiest book. 

__  
_“See you later, Stan the Man and Bops.” Richie waves out the doorway, a wry grin on his face._  


__

__

__“Shalom Richie.” [[6](%E2%80%9C#note6%E2%80%9D)] _Out of thousands of words, he only says two._ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> 1 the tradition of the Sabbath is to welcome _Shabbat Hamalka_ , the Queen of the Sabbath, & honor the seventh day (in which G-d rested). Traditionally women are the ones to light the Sabbath candles.  [ [return to text](%E2%80%9C#return1%E2%80%9D) ]
> 
> 2 Bobele - literally 'little bean', refers to someone short  [ [return to text](%E2%80%9C#return2%E2%80%9D) ]
> 
> 3 Originally, G-d said that if there were 50 righteous people in Sodom and Gomorrah, She would spare them. Abraham then bargained Her down to 10 - though it's hardly 'bargaining' as She agreed each time.  [ [return to text](%E2%80%9C#return3') ]
> 
> .4 Moses, a Jewish prophet, was sent down the Nile river to escape death after the Pharoh ordered all Hebrew boys born from now on should be killed  [ [return to text](%E2%80%9C#return4%E2%80%9D) ]
> 
> 5 Mitzvah- a commandment of Jewish law / a fulfillment of such law. It creates a relationship with the Commander (being G-d) .  [ [return to text](%E2%80%9C#return5%E2%80%9D) ]
> 
> 6 Shalom - a Hebrew word meaning hello, goodbye & peace.  [ [return to text](%E2%80%9C#return6%E2%80%9D) ]
> 
> \----
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Kudos and comments are appreciated!!
> 
> here's my carrd for more places to find me: https://sapphoites.carrd.co/  
> my @ on twt is @DykeToziers - feel free to DM me and yell at me


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